Raynor's Retribution
by Bushido Sangheili
Summary: This story will be continued at a later date. Apologies for the inconvenience.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Much thanks to Blackhole1 for letting me know I had my initial lore mixed up. I'm a detail man, so I appreciate it a great deal! Here's a revised chapter one with Inquisitors in their correct Ordos._

_I wrote this with hard core fans like me in mind, who know both universes well and want to get into the action right away._

_But Blackhole1's right. This story does deserve a bit more back story. Allow me to give it just that!_

James Raynor glared at the holovid screen, watching as Dominion forces drove back his brave Raiders yet again. "How's Mengsk doing that?" he wondered aloud. "Where's he getting the manpower to pull this stuff off? That shoulda been an easy win!"

Jim's ship captain and friend Matt Horner stepped softly to his side. "What's our next move, sir?" Matt was always formal like that.

Raynor sighed. "I don't know, Matt. Dominion's cracking down hard."

Matt contemplated the holovid recording thoughtfully. "What worlds we do liberate run us too ragged to hold for more than a few days."

"It don't add up!" Raynor muttered. "The Dominion's always outnumbered us, but there's never been that many of them."

"Especially in so many places at once."

Raynor took out a fresh ciggarette and lit it. "Maybe I'm pushing the boys too hard. We need to find a quiet spot and lay low for a bit."

Matt walked to the star map in the center of the room. "Quiet in this galaxy? Not likely. But we might be able to touch down where Mengsk won't think to look. Even if it's not even in the Dominion at all."

Raynor threw him a puzzled look. "Sounds like you already got someplace in mind, Matt."

"Maybe." Matt entered a sequnce into the navcomputer. "It's a long shot at best anyhow."

Raynor curiously regarded the lush green globe the computer had drawn up. "Typhon? Never heard of it."

A dry voice rasped from behind Jim. "They be havin' bad time down there. Lot's of real bad mojo."

Matt jumped. "Blast it, Tosh! Don't do that!"

Raynor was much more interested in the planet on screen. "Tell me more about Typhon."

Matt threw the Specter an irritated look and turned back to the display. "It's a jungle world. Sparsely populated." he hesitated. "It's under Imperium control."

Tosh laughed. "Control be the wrong word."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Imperium? You mean the 'Imperium of Man?'" he groaned. "I don't like it. They're a bit over the top, but at least they ain't looking for me. Plus they're nuts enough even Mengsk doesn't tangle with them. Set course for Typhon."

Tosh said nothing, but slowly shook his head.

. 

The HiveLord writhed in agony as blood and bile gushed from its mouth and numerous bullet holes. It whipped its barbed appendages back and forth as life drained from its once mighty, flesh-rending limbs. At last it succumbed to oblivion and crashed to the ground, sighing a foul gas cloud as it expired.

The mighty human warrior who had, admittedly with the help of friends, slain the creature stood triumphant. He hefted his powerful sniper weapon with satifaction and raised his skull-painted visor.

Jim Raynor took the spent ciggarette from his mouth and tossed it into one of the monster's gaping wounds.

"Sweet mercy, Jimmy," a gravally voice said behind him. "What do you reckon it was? Zerg?"

Raynor reguarded the creature. "Sure was mean enough to be zerg. Never seen one like this before, though. I'm just glad it's dead, Tychus."

"Amen to that, brother." Tychus said around his huge cigar. "So where to next, parter?"

Raynor was about to respond when he heard a faint step behind him. He whirled, sniper ready. The figure facing him was not the slightest deterred by the formidable weapon. She was dressed all in black and heavily armed. her face was concealed by a high collar and a tall, wide-brimmed hat marked with an iron 'I.'

She spoke, her voice deep and fobidding. "Well done, Commander Raynor. Few have accomplished what you have just done so casually."

Raynor lowered his weapon. Slightly. "You have me at a disadvantage, miss...?"

"I am Inquisitor Adrastia of the Ordo Hereticus."

Tychus chuckled. "Say that three times fast."

Adrastia ignored him. "You are in need of funds, commander. The Imperium can provide them, given your cooperation regarding a matter of some concern to the Inquisition."

Raynor raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening. What kind of 'funds' we talkin' here?"

"Big enough to convince a man already on the run to do something illegal but nevertheless beneficial to the Imperium."

"Illegal's not my thing, ma'am. I'd like a figure if you don't mind."

The Inquisitor sniffed irritably. "Very well, commander. Ten million Credits."

Tychus nearly swallowed his cigar and coughed. Raynor flinched but held his Poker face. "And," Adrastia continued, "A Liberator Class destroyer with all onboard weaponry and equipment to bolster the ranks of your Raiders."

Raynor narrowed his eyes at her. "You're awful generous with your government's cash and gear. What's so important, if you don't mind my asking?"

Adrastia folded her arms. "The Inquisition requires you to dispose of a...troublesom individual. This man cannot to brought to justice without proof, which would take far too long to acquire before it will do any good."

"What do you mean?" Raynor was liking this less by the minute.

Tychus chewed on his cigar excitedly. "Who cares what she means, jimmy? It's ten million Credits and a brand new ride to put a slug in some joker's noggin!"

Adrastia's words were steelly "This 'joker,' Mr. Findly, is Azaria Kyrus, Chapter Master of the Blood Raven Space Marines and Chief Librarian."

The cigar fell out of Tychus's mouth. "I mighta spoke too soon seems." he mumbled.

Raynor looked hard at Adrastia. "I thought your Space Marines were the good guys. What's Kyrus done to ten million on his head?"

"It is thanks to Kyrus that the Inquisition has condemned this subsector to Exterminatus." The Inquisitor's words were grim. "He has become corrupt. Kyrus orchistrates the insurrection and rebelion causing the Imperium no end of grief. I have found evidence enough to know for myself, but not to disuade Exterminatus. Were he to be...removed..."

"The incursions will stop and Exterminatus will be unnesessary." Raynor finished.

"Precisely."

Raynor sighed. "A lot of good folks will die if that Exterminatus goes down." He looked to the Hivelord corpse thoughfully. "I'll do it."

Adrastia nodded her approval. "Excellant, commander. The Ordo Malleus arrives first here at Typhon in three weeks. Until then." The Inquisitor turned on her heel and departed.

Tychus gave a low whistle as he picked up his fallen cigar. "Ten million." he breathed.

"To kill a psychic maniac." Raynor replied darkly.

Tychus shrugged. "Ten million regardless. And a new ride thrown in. Besides..." he brushed off the cigar and stuck it back between his teeth. "Psychic maniacs are our speciality!"


	2. Chapter 2

Matt was incredulous. "You didn't! You agreed to take a job from the Imperium!"

"Now, Matt, calm down." Raynor put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "It'll all work out."

"Oh, sure it'll all work out!" Matt threw his hands in the air. "We do what they ask, and then they stab us in the back when we're finished. It's like working for Mengsk! Worse!"

"Matt, this could be the break we've been looking for." Raynor extinguished his cigarette in an improvised ash tray that was actually an up-turned promotional photo of Mengsk.

"Ten million, son." Tychus chimed in as if he were offering an expensive dessert.

Matt glared at him. "I don't care how much they _say_ they'll pay us. Jim, we're talking about signing on with a group that makes Mengsk look like Santa Claus. The Imperium, the Inquisition no less!"

"What's wrong with the Imperium is beyond our control." Raynor kept his voice calm. He needed Matt on his side. "Mengsk isn't. We can take Mengsk. But I need your help. These folks in this system need your help. If we let them down..."

Matt looked at the holoscreen and Typhon. "Exterminatus." he muttered.

Raynor nodded. "Our revolution's always been about saving lives. Besides, I've asked Tosh and the Specters to keep an eye on our Inquisitor friend. Adrastia's a psychic, too, so I figured Spec Ops would be just right for the job."

Matt gave a small smile. "At least he's off the ship. You've really done your homework, haven't you, sir?"

Raynor lit a new cigarette. "I'm not a fan of loose ends."

Matt walked over to the console. "Well you're not the only one to do his homework around here. I did some digging while you and Tychus were on the ground. Pulled up everything I could find about the Space Marines that wasn't some over-glorified documentary. You wouldn't believe some of the propaganda the Imperium turns out."

"Did you find anything on a Chapter Master by the name of Azariah Kyrus by any chance? He's with the Blood Ravens."

"Not much." Matt brought up a file. "Only a brief notation of slight behavioral alteration after a particularly grueling mission."

"Maybe he snapped." suggested Tychus. "It happens."

Raynor glanced through the file. "What we really need to know about this guy won't be in any files. If he's in charge he won't let anything on record he doesn't want. Looks like we may have to do some old-fashioned gumshoe work."

Matt entered a new sequence into the navcomputer. "If we want intel of any kind on the Blood Ravens, we need to go to a world called Calderis. It's a recruiting planet for the Chapter."

Tychus spat his cigar into Mengsk the ash tray. "If we go askin' for their head hauncho's big secrets I doubt we'll get a friendly 'hello.'"

Matt sighed. "We don't have any other leads, though."

"Set course." said Raynor. "We'll think of something."

...

Jim's heart sank as he took in the scene that awaited him outside the dropship. The capitol city of Calderis lay in ruins beneath a burning sun, harsh sand swirling around the jagged and scorched blocks of stone like desert ghosts. Human skeletons bleached in the heat, mute witnesses to the slaughter.

Raynor and his troops searched disheartedly among the city wreckage, looking for survivors or at least anything that might provide a clue as to what happened. It was during this desparate search that Jim spotted a big green...something bolt from one hiding place to another. "Hey!" he yelled.

The huge green whatever-it-was fled, moving amazingly fast for something so big and clumsy. Raynor took aim and fired at its legs. One of the rounds pierced a boot and the thing fell howling in pain. Jim and the Raiders jogged up the creature. It cursed and swore at them with hideously poor grammar. "Oi, you flamin' humies! You gits zogged my zogging foot! Oh, Gork take you all, ya dratted buggas!"

Jim stared, mesmerized by the incredible grotesqueness of the thing currently wishing them the most grusome of deaths. "Uh...Matt, you seeing this?"

Matt's voice came back over the intercom. "Looking it up now. One minute."

Meanwhile the long-winded creature continued. "I'll pop out yer eyes and let burn ya 'way ta noffing! Oi, I knew I shoulda not left me dakka at home! You humies get yours bleedin' sharpish!"

Raynor closed his visor and turned down the receiver volume. "Any time now, Matt."

"Got something. They're called Orks. They're raiders and pillagers with a heavy 'this is mine' mentality. When they get into big enough gatherings they can overrun whole planets."

Raynor scrutinized the green monster with distaste. "Scavenger's huh?" he lifted his visor. "What are you after out here? You find anything useful?"

The ork screamed. "Humies want my loot! Go set yer arses on foya, pastey squigg droppin'!"

Raynor narrowed his eyes and tightened the grip on his weapon. "Well that just ain't friendly." Jim shot the ork in the other foot.

"Owww!" the ork yowled. "Whys don't you squeelas just pop me proppa? You Space Marines can't leave well 'naff alone even yous squashed dis place alreadys." the ork held up what he'd been stealing. It looked like a data modual litterally ripped out of the console. "I loot this fairish, yeah? Da red Space gits 'ready smashed everyfing else. Dis 'ere's mine!"

"Space Marines did this?" Raynor looked at the ork hard, stuggling to make sense of his babble. "But this is their own recruiting planet."

The ork shook his head wildly. "Not no more. Heard over me stattic box, I did. Dem Blood Ravens, they said to smash 'ole place, even the good bitz!"

Raynor cursed. "Kyrus is covering his tracks!"

"Trakks?" the ork sat up and gave him a puzzled look. "No more trakks. They's loaded up and gone! Left me 'hind, too! Gits! Left poor Broozgiva all 'lone."

Jim blinked. "What? Not trucks, _tracks_." He thought hard for several moments. Then his gaze fell to Broozgiva's data modual. "That's it! That might be just what we need."

Broozgiva hugged the lump of metal to his chest and glared at Raynor, ork brain working furiously. "Who iz you? You talks like you ain't one o' them Space gits."

"We're not Space Marines. Name's Raynor."

"Rayna? Weird name fer a humie. Don't matta none though, all sounds same to me."

"If you don't mind." Jim was getting impatient. "I'll be taking that madual off your hands."

Broozgiva put on an adamant expression. "Nope. My loot. If you want it...You hafta take me wiff you."

Jim stared at him. "What?"

The ork pointed an accousing finger at him. "Well as _you_ zogged both me foots, I wan't proppa last longish out 'ere. Ain't afraid a dyin', I just ain't ready. Also need to see you treat me loot good." he held up his prize. "Worff somfing dis is!"

Raynor arched an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure it's worth so much?"

A sly smile streched Broozgiva's fanged mouth. "You lot seem to want it somfing bad."

"Why shouldn't we just take it from you?"

Broozgiva shurgged. "I 'spose you could. You'd hafta shoot me. But that's never stopped humies from takin' what they wants 'fore." He chuckled. "O'course so do Orks neeva!"

That shook Jim. If he killed this creature to get what he wanted, he'd be no better than one of Mengsk's thugs. Then again, this ork could be trouble. "What do you do? Other than steal dead folk's equipment? If you want to come with us, you'll have to pull you own weight...which looks considerable."

Broozgiva scratched his chin, the pain in his feet apparently passed. "Wot do _I_ do? I fix fings. And build 'em. Dakka 'specially. I got naff for stompin', but put a shoota in my hands and I'm right good in a scrap!" The ork's enthusiasm for fighting startled Jim.

"So, you're a mechanic basically?"

Broozgiva nodded. "Basically, mod'rately, and even complexically. And like I said I loves a good smashin's too!" the ork got unsteadily to his feet, still tightly gripping the data modual. "An' no 'ard stones fer shootin' me. Woulda done the same."

Of all the things Broozgiva had said, that worried Jim most. He was about to let a violent, greedy, loud alien onto his ship. Matt would not be happy. "So, you want passage until you're patched up and the modual returned once we're done with it, right?" Hopefully the ork would agree to temparary residence. Raynor hoped in vain.

"Nope." said Broozgiva casually. "Me clan neva much liked me. Jealous, see? Zog the orks! I'm wiff ya, Boss! Ta stay!"

Raynor sighed and switched on his comlink. "Matt, we're coming aboard. And we have a new crew member."


	3. Chapter 3

"No, no, NO!" Matt adamantly folded his arms over his chest. "That...thing is not staying on my ship!"

Raynor sighed and rubbed his eyelids. These arguments with Matt were becoming too frequent, and he hated arguing with his friend. "Matt, we only have days before Exterminatus and Broozgiva's got the data we need right here."

"You don't know that!" Matt accused. "It could hold something totally worthless, if it he hasn't already broken it beyond hope of recovery!"

"Oh, come on, Matt." Jim tried to lighten the conversation. "Between Stetmann and the Adjutant, there ain't a thing that they can't crack."

Matt was unmoved. Jim continued, "We have to take this chance, Matt."

The console comlink pinged and an agitated Swann made his message brief. "Hey, Cowboy. I'd appreciate if you came down here."

Matt threw his friend a sidelong glance and said quietly, "I don't trust that ork, Jim. I'm going to keep an eye on him even if you won't."

Jim didn't answer as he quickly departed to attend to Swann and whatever his problem was.

.

"What's up, Swann?"

The ace mechanic scratched at his chest with his one hand, his face the picture of fretfulness. "It's that goblin man or whatever he's called. Just walked right in and started taking stuff apart! He won't even respond to us. Got a feeling he'd only listen to you."

Broozgiva was indeed in the middle of disassembling equipment. The ork's victim was a Viking attack fighter, currently missing it left gattling arm. Bolts and armored plating lay scattered all around, with the ork himself whistling brokenly through his jagged teeth. "Oi, Boss! Odd sorts ya gots 'ere. Nice dakka, though."

Swann scratched his head. "What does that even mean? I can hardly understand a thing he says! Please, Cowboy, make stop tearing up my gear, huh?"

Jim nodded and held up his hands diplomatically. "You heard him, Broozgiva. Listen, Swann's head mechanic down here. That means he's in charge, got it? You listen to him like you'd listen to me."

Broozgiva wiped away a trail of snot with an oily hand, leaving his face even dirtier. "As ya says."

Jim's comlink suddenly pinged. Matt's voice came through. "Jim, message on the bridge. It's Tosh. You're gonna want to here this."

"Copy, Matt." Raynor brought his attention back to Swann and Broozgiva. "Ok, you two get better aquainted. Broozgiva, listen to Swann. Swann, let Broozgiva help around the armory. Alien or not, he's a member of this crew and will be treated like one."

"Aye, sir." Swann nodded compliantly.

The two mechanics looked at each other suspiciously as Raynor left. Swann absently adjusted the servo on his prosthesis. Broozgiva scratched behind his ear with a greasy wrench. The awkward silence stretched on, neither knowing how to address the other.

"So..." Swann finally started. "If you could, uh...put that back together," he gestured to the pile of parts laying on the floor next to Broozgiva, "That'd be great."

The ork nodded. "I notice dis 'ere walka's not got 'naff armor. Real light-weight. I thought you 'umies was in ta sturdy."

Swann shrugged. "It's got light plating so it can take off. Vikings can convert from ground fighters to air supperiority."

"Wot!" Broozgiva was genuinely surprised. "You means ta tell me dis fing can fly? But it's got legs! Leggy fings ain't s'pose ta _fly. _And wot 'bout them wagons wiff da Boomgunz?" The ork pointed at a row of tanks.

"What, the Siege Tanks? What about 'em?"

"They can't 'ave out their _real_ kannons on da move!"

"Well no." Swann gestured for Broozgiva to follow him. Swann showed him the leg struts. "The gun's so strong it'd blow the tank itself over if it fired without the stands."

Broozgiva rolled his eyes. "Dat's 'cuz da wagon ain't big enuff! Big wagons don't tip over, see?"

Swann laughed. "Ha! You think you can build something better than the Siege Tank? Go ahead and try!"

"Fine! I will! I'll fix up somefing ta squash ya punny 'umie tank proppa! WAAAGH!"

Swann and Broozgiva stormed away from each other muttering insults.

"'umie git."

"Alien freak."

.

Raynor arrived back on the bridge to find Tosh on screen playing with his favorite knife. He twirled it from sheathed to unsheathed in a flickering dance of death. The razor sharp blade caught the light and reflected the same wight sheen of its owner's eyes.

Jim suppressed a shudder. Those murderous eyes always gave him the creeps. "Dig up anything, Tosh?"

"I been keeping an eye on our Inquisitor lady friend, Jim, like you asked. Busy bee, that one."

"What's she up to?"

Tosh flipped his knife so that the blade pointed down. "You should know that you're not the only one she's hired to go after the Librarian."

Jim didn't like the sound of that. "She's recruited others? Why? She came to me first!"

"Maybe she thinks we're not up to it." Matt suggested.

Tosh shook his head. "She thinks you can do it fine. But the prize goes to whoever kills Kyrus first."

Matt put a fist under his chin thoughtfully. "Competition breeds motivation."

"But she made a deal with _me!_" Raynor growled. "I don't much care for being doublecrossed. Who're the others she's talked to?"

Tosh waved a dismissive hand. "All sorts. Most aren't worth worring, though. Probably just false leads to throw us off."

"Throw you off?" Matt knit his eyebrows. "Have you been detected?"

"Adrastia's a sharp one." Tosh's voice betrayed his grudging respect. "She's no slouch at infiltration herself. But I suspect this be just Inquisitor routine. These kind of organizations spy on each other all the time. But they haven't dealt with Specters before."

Jim wanted to get to the point. "What other groups has she called up that we should worry about?"

"There are two that might give us trouble: a clan of aliens called Eldar and a gang of pirate Orks known as the Freebooterz."

"Got it." Jim made a mental note to avoid them if at all possible. "Matt, look up everything you can about them. If we get stuck in a fight with either of them we'll want to know about any weaknesses. Anything else, Tosh?"

"I sent two of my best Specters to keep on eye on our fellow bounty hunters." Tosh smiled darkly at his mock camaraderie. "Morgue will send word about the Eldar. Nightshade will keep in touch about the Orks. These are Specters of mine that would be legendary...if they had left anybody alive to make up legends."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Uh...that's great, Tosh. But we need intel, not a bodycount."

Tosh flashed his knife dangerously. "In this galaxy, you can't hardly have one without the other." The Specter cut transmission.

Matt gave a humorless laugh. "And to think this subsector was violent before Tosh got loose."

The console chimed and the Adjutant's calm, synthesized voice came over the loudspeakers. "Commander Raynor, the data modual's information recovery is complete. Much of the modual was damaged beyond retrieval. Not all of the data could be saved. However, what has been recovered may pertain to our current objective. Relaying it to the bridge computer now."

Jim and Matt drank in the precious intel that scrolled across the screen. "I'm surprised we could get anything out that mangled machine." Matt said.

One particular file caught Jim's attention. "What do we have here?"

**Subject: Aurelia, Subsector Aurelia**

**Threat increasing. All available Blood Raven Chapter companies in the subsector are to comply.**

**Cyrene is only the beginning. Aurelia must be secured.**

Matt looked quizically at Jim. "What do you think it means, sir?"

Jim tapped his fingers thoughtfully. "This Aurelia must be the subsector's namesake. Something big's going down there if that many Space Marines are supposed to show up."

"Kyrus' forces definately tried to keep this sort of thing from getting out," said Matt. "Even from the other Blood Ravens."

Jim had a sudden thought. "Adjutant, what class of data modual was this information taken from?"

"Message vox. Heavily encrypted and broadcast on an unusually low-detectability frequency. A transmission sent using this transiever might be used by those hoping to foil spies linked with high authorities."

"It fits then!" Jim turned to Matt. "It makes sence that a few Blood Ravens might get suspicious of their Chapter Master's strange activities and do some digging. They must have gotten wind of attack plans for Cyrene once Kyrus found out about the spies."

Matt's wheels were turning as well. "Cyrene is their proof that Kyrus has turned traitor! Except..." he glanced at the screen where the modual's revived data still scrolled. "Except they were too late. The message wasn't sent before the attack. The Blood Ravens still don't know."

This new persepctive excited Jim. He lit a cigarette. "Aurelia must be Kyrus' next target. The Blood Ravens were trying to head him off there."

Matt looked sadly at the star map. "And now there will be no one to stop him."

There was a dangerous glint in Jim's eyes. "Nobody..." he drew on the cigarette. "Except the Raiders. Set course full speed for Aurelia."


	4. Chapter 4

A ghostly white sphere hung as though dazed in the inky-black space outside the view port. Icy scars cris-crossed the surface, and frozen mountains and canyons stood so tall and so deep that many were visible even from high orbit. Over all, the world seemed like a chilled corpse.

Tychus took a profound draw on a fresh cigar. "They named a subsector after an iceberg?"

"It wasn't always like this." said Matt. "It was struck by a planet-wide disaster some years ago."

Raynor scratched his chin. "Nuclear winter?"

"A 'demon infestation.'" Matt's disbelief was evident.

Tychus chuckled merrily. "Demons, huh? Oh, well then we'll just have to stay on our toes."

Jim scrutinized the planet's readout on the holodisplay. "Demons or no we have to get down there and dig in. Kyrus isn't here yet, so we have some time to prep."

Matt entered the sequence that would take them into low orbit. "We should worn the local populace, too. People fighting for their homes are a potent force."

Tychus tapped the ashes from his cigar. "If they ain't already froze solid down there."

...

Jim took in the eerie landscape. The planet was covered mostly by broad cities and industrial sites. Everything was now entombed by whatever disaster that had caused the flash-freeze. here and there a radio tower or exhaust chimney poked out of the frost prison like the fingers of a desperate escapee. Aurelia had not been lost without a fight. Signs of hard combat were everywhere. Ruined husks of battle vehicles lay cold and forgotten. Craters pocked the rare patches of exposed walkways, and there was not a bit of snow upturned by the Raiders' work crew that didn't shelter dozens of spent rounds.

This world has seen war too much already, thought Jim sadly. "Bet those bunkers and turrets up!" he ordered. "We're burning daylight."

The Raiders' ground base was soon a flurry of activity. Simple but sturdy bunkers were up in minutes, as well as their missile defense counterparts. Tanks and combat walkers hurried into possition. Under foot, marines and SCVs made haste to their own stations. In the middle of it all was Broozgiva. The Ork seemed to be everywhere at once making "modifications" as he saw fit. He even went so far as to scavenge a working Predator turret off a Space Marine tank and bolted it to one of the bunkers. The defensive line began to look more like a scrap heap, but defenses they were and the Ork was pleased with his handiwork.

Tychus joined Raynor on a snow-covered hill that served as Jim's observation platform. "Bunkers are up and manned. Shaping to be a hot fight."

"I'm hoping the fight on the ground will be minimal." Jim replied. "We'll devote the biggest chunk of our force to keeping them from landing. If we can keep them stuck in low orbit between the Thors and the Hyperion we just might pull this off."

Jim's com beeped. "Sir, we've got an issue up here on the north side of base. You need to see this."

Tychus and Jim hitched a ride on a north-bound siege tank. The lack of progress that met them irritated Raynor. "Why are these defesnes not up yet?" he asked angrily at the sergeant.

The sergeant motioned for them to follow. "It's that, sir." he said pointing.

In the middle of an open patch of snow lay a figure in black. The man lay face down toward the base. Jim stormed up to the protrate form, Tychus just behind him.

Jim grabbed the man by the cloak and hoisted him up to his knees. "What do you think you're doing out-" he stopped short.

The man's face and eyes were chalky white. His nose and lips appeared to have been burned away, leaving his features a skeletal grin. He wore no shirt beneath the black cloak. His grey skin was covered in festering black markings. On his chest in particular was a black circle with eight arrows pointing in all directions.

Jim recoiled in disgust. "Who...or _what_ are you?"

Amazingly the human creature that knelt in the biting snow formed words without lips. "I bring a message, you who blaspheme the holy of unholies."

He stood and threw off the cloak. An invisible hook seemed to yank him up by his ribcage and he screamed. "You stand on ground blessed by the Dark Gods! The Gate stands ready! As holy punishment your blood must be offered to them. The Gate stands ready! The servants of Khorne and the children of Nurgle come for you. THE GATE STANDS READY!"

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Jim yelled over the zealot's frenzied threats.

The man's head lolled to one side and he gaped at Raynor as if _he_ were insane. "Blessed are you...all of you. To be sacrifised in this way shall bring untold joy to the Great Defilers. Give thanks and revel in your inevitable slaughter. Hear now the song of evil and rejoice! May your skulls testify of their cursed glory for ever and ever and ever and ever and-"

Tychus pulled out his sidearm and shot him. The heretic crumpled to the ground. Several moments of silence passed. "Well that was weird." said Tychus.

Raynor's troops looked at one another uncomfortably. They'd seen alot, including the strange wonders of the Protoss and the horrors of the Zerg. But never had they witnessed something so blatently profane.

Jim turned sharply to face his men. He had to keep their morale from breaking. "Everything you just heard that lunatic say was nonsence. There are no 'Dark Gods.'"

Raynor's com beeped again. "Sir, new signals on approach. Land-based, heading our way fast."

"Get these defences up on the double." Jim barked. "We have a new fight on our hands, people."

As the Raiders lept into their preparations with renewed vigor, and perhaps a touch of fear, Broozgiva hobbled up to Jim and Tychus. "Trouble, Boss?"

"Only that we may have to fight two battles at once." answered Tychus.

A light came to the Orks eyes and a smile to his face. "Gork! Dis iz betta than I 'oped! Two ya sez? Dat gives me an idea!" With that Broozgiva loped away to act upon whatever had entered his green head.

Raynor glanced side-long at Tychus. "Why do I not like the sound of that?"

Tychus shrugged. "What harm could he possibly do?"

...

A profound silence gripped the Raiders' base camp. Every man was at his station, weapons and other equipment held in wight knuckle suspence. Word of the insane messenger and his promise of doom had spread dispite Jim's effort to contain it. The men spoke not a word. Even the ice itself seemed to wait in dread quiet. The largest number of enemy contants had been detected in the north, so every soldier who could be spared had assembled, with preliminary guards manning the other posts.

Raynor scanned the open ice fields before the bunker line atop a siege-mode tank. No sing of them. Where _were_ they? Sometinms the waiting felt like the worst part. The solemn stillness was shattered by extra-heavy footfalls behind him. Jim spun to see Broozgiva stomping up to the front line in his new creation. It appeared to be the right half of a Marauder suit and the left half of a Firebat suit held to each other with bolts, armor plates, and dubious-looking welds. Marine cobat shields had been bolted on as well for extra armor. Attached to each arm of the suit were C-14 rifles, each with its bayonet extended. "Oi, Boss! They 'ere yet?"

Tychus stared at the suit in open-mouthed admiration. "Brother, what are you wearin' and where can I get one?"

"Wot, dis?" the Ork put on an air of mock modesty. "Juz' somfing I put togeva for dis 'ere scrap! Now where iz they? Oh, and who we fightin'?"

Jim tore his bewildered gaze from Broozgiva's battle suit back to the snow field. "I'm not really sure. Some nut came into camp and started screaming about 'Dark Gods.'"

Recognition dawned on the Ork's face, followed by a sinister smile. "Oh ho-ho!" he chuckled. "We got us 'ere a right zogging smashin's. Spikey boyz. Chaos Krazies. Maybe even some demons. Should be fun. I 'ope we live."

No sooner than Broozgiva had uttered the words, a black mass creeped over the white horizon. Jim looked through his scope to size up what kind of force they were. Most were infantry in large, black power armor and carried both ranged and melee weapons. Among them lumbered bulky combat walkers and tanks. Inflating the shadowy ranks were thousands of thin zealots similar to the one that had delivered the grim message. They were armed with small weapons and thin armor, but were eager for battle. A few of the more imposing warriors wore trophies of skulls and even strips of human skin.

A rancid fog seemed to trail in their wake, fouling the air with the stink of their evil. Warcries and shouts for blood echoed over the ice. The horde halted and one stepped forward, their leader from the looks of him. He brandished a huge axe and bellowed across the field. "Behold and tremble, mortals! The Archons of Sin have come to claim your souls! Skulls for the Great Tally and the Feast of Carnage!"

The dire host repeated their champion's watchword with a voice to shake the mountains. "Skulls!" As one they charged, a vast, slithering nightmare in the shape of a tidal wave.

Jim jumped down from the seige tank. "So now the fight comes. But not the one we expecting." Raynor looked down the line of bunkers where his brave Raiders waited impatiently for the order to fire. How many would die, he wondered. How many had families?

"Open up."

With the thunder of the mighty artilary guns, the battle began.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to my steadfast Reviewer Fortune Zyne who has been waiting so patiently for an Eldar appearance._

_Thank you for your positive reviews._

The Specter Morgue, true name forgotten, uncoiled from his crouch. His stealth field generator finally caught up with the flurry of movement he was just now relaxing from. As his silhouette faded from the visible spectrum, Morgue popped a cramping muscle in his neck and looked around at the bodies lying prone around him. He had slipped. Bad. He'd been spotted. How? Not sure. Intel said these aliens called Eldar were supposed to be big-shot psychics. Morgue flicked the blood from his knife and cast a critical eye over the corpses. Not so tough to me, he thought.

Morgue went over the battle in his mind. Just what exactly had happed anyway? Ah, now he could see it. He was concealed in the shrub, spying on this squad of Eldar. Then the Twitch started. That was what had given him away! The cursed Twitch, both a physical and mental tic. His cloaking field would have stopped a normal person from detecting any movement he'd made. But these psychic aliens must have picked up the Twitch like sonar.

Small though the Twitch was, it would have equated to stepping on a dry branch to those with mental powers. Morgue pulled a tiny phial of violet gas from a case on his belt and stuck it to a nozzle on his helmet's face mask. A pop and a sigh of escaping fumes. Morgue hungrily inhaled the Terrazine. Only sweet Terrazine stopped the Twitch, though Morgue suspected it was the cause of the proplem in the first place. The Protoss gas siezed at his lungs. A violent rainbow of maddened, swirling colors flashed in his vision for a few secconds. Morgue pulled away the empty phial and crushed it in the tiny fit that always followed a Terrazine dose.

As he let the glass dust fall from his glove, the Twitch was mercifully lifted. Morgue searched the bodies as he continued to review the battle in his mind. After the Twitch, the Eldar soldiers had turned as one and began leveling their weapons. The Specter whipped his AGR-14 into firing position and eliminated the two farthest targets. The aliens returned fire, but did not anticipate a human could move so fast. Morgue side-stepped the rounds and fired into the chest of his nearest opponent.

Seeing they couldn't get a clear shot, the Eldar drew thin, curved swords that glowed a ghostly blue. Like lightning, Morgue's left hand lept to his long combat knife while with his right fired his rifle and wounded its mark. The Specter advanced, his own blade bright. An Eldar brought his weapon level with Morgue's chest and thrust. Morgue dodged and slashed across the alien's belly. The bloodied knife then silenced the Eldar's cry of pain with a lethal jab.

Morgue turned in time to see an avenging blade sweep down at him. He evaded just in time to keep his skull from being cloven in half. The hot glow of the energy sword blinded him for half an instant. Morgue took advantage of his enemy's momentum and uppercut the knife into his side all the way up into his shoulder. Pushing past the slain alien, Morgue confronted the squad leader.

This Eldar was different. He appeared to be even less armored than his brethren. He wore a rune-covered robe and a helmet adorned with large gems. His sword was much larger than the others, and raw energy crackled along his fingers.

The Specter fired, but the warlock deflected the rounds as if swatting flies. Morgue closed the distance, his attention on the energy-balled hand of his enemy. The sword, while no doubt deadly, was most likely ceremonial for hyper-psionics like this. The Eldar did lash out, quite swiftly, with the humming blade. The psyker's hand was momentarily hidden from view. Morgue was not fooled. He twisted past the sword, the weapon swinging so close he feel its heat through his combat suit. He rushed the alien, bringing his knife to bear. But the Eldar pushed him away with a mental shove and the knife cut only air.

Morgue knew the energy blast would be unleashed next. The warlock's hand reappeared, now ablaze with deadly power. It we be upon him any instant. Morgue drew his own mental powers around him in a simple but thick shield. This long-lived alien had honed his skills well, as the potency of the blast testified. Morgue glanced at the white-hot lances of engery flailing all around him, any one of which, if it so much as touched him, meant death. But the shield held, and soon the attack was spent. The Specter wasted no time. Releasing the shield, he charged the Eldar, knife ready, and arched out his arm with a powerful sweep.

Morgue's grip on the knife was almost shaken as he felt it find wet purchace. The knife bit through first thin armor then soft flesh and then came free. A slim stream of scarlet tailed the blade like a comet and seemed frozen mid air for a fractioned second. The warlock grunted in surprise and stumbled. He looked down to see his robes quickly changing color. He turned his head to stare at the human in shock. Then death remembered its prize.

It was like a dream, Morgue thought to himself. So fluid and fleeting. It may not have even happened at all. But it had happened. And the bodies were here as gory proof. Morgue arrived at the last body. This one was more lithe than the others, who were wiry to begin with. Maybe a female? To his amazment she groaned and tried to roll over. He'd really slipped. No one had survived an encounter with him before.

Finding him above her, the alien snatched a tiny dagger from her belt. Morgue pinned her wrist to the ground with a heavy boot. The Specter continued to search her, not caring what she thought of his probing.

She whispered weakly to him, an odd musical echo touched her voice. "You will pay for your murders, human. Eldar blood never spills unavenged."

Morgue didn't reply. She was hit bad and would bleed out soon if unattended. She was just another corpse to him, albeit taking longer than he'd intended. His searching hand found at last an egg-sized ruby set on a silver chain around her neck. The alien's breathing hasted as he scrutinized the stone. Pretty, he thought, and yanked it free.

"No!" screamed the Eldar, heart-breaking sorrow in her voice. She reached up a feeble hand to stop him.

Her reaction puzzled him. "Just a necklace." he muttered.

"Ignorant ape!" she hissed at him. "You cannot comprehend what you hold in your hand!"

Morgue didn't care much for insults, but he admired her courage to do so. She'd better be careful though. His knife certainly didn't mind being drawn twice in one day. Despite her quickly declining state, the Eldar fought hard to reclaim the jewel. "Murderer...idiot human...you cannot...cannot."

The Eldar cast a pitiable, but admirable site. Here she was, bleeding to death among the corpses of her squadmates, and she was still fighting. Even Morgue's icy heart was touched, if ever so slightly. She's a fighter, he reasoned, and deserves at least one special treat before she dies. He took a second phial bfrom his belt and laid it beside her head. Since her helmet bore no breathing nozzles, he gently removed it altogether.

Beneath was a visage of fantasy. Her beauty impressed even him. Her pale white skin seemed impervious to blemish. Her hair an eyes were the color of cardinal feathers. Undeterred, Morgue set the helmet aside and picked up the phial.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"It'll ease your passing if nothing else." Morgue held the phial to her nose.

She turned away. "I don't want your pathetic human madicine. I-"

The phial opened with a loud snap. The Eldar inhaled sharply at the sound, breathing in the Terrazine my mistake. Her eyes widened and she gasped as the gas took effect. "By the gods..." she whispered. Her hand started to glow with her newly augmented powers.

Morgue felt a hammerblow against his chest and he sailed several yards away from her. The Specter lept to his feet, knife ready. The Eldar was already standing as well, startling considering that she was nearly bled out. Her whole body now glowed with violent power. Morgue was sure she was about to tear him in half when the tiny dose of Terrazine wore off. Inherently psychic races must burn through it faster, he thought, or else she used it up in a hurry with that light show.

The Eldar's legs buckled and she fell. She rose weakly to a crawling position and put a hand to her wound. Her bleeding had resumed. She lifted her head to glare at him. "What was that...that drug you gave me?"

Morgue did not lower his knife. "I call it 'a mistake on my part.' No more candy for you, lady."

She pounded a tiny fist into the soil. "Tell me now! With this we can defeat the Devourer herself! What _is_ it?"

Morgue was just about ready to quiet this noisy alien. No doubt others were already on they way here. Eldar seemed to sence when each other died. Then a thought occured to him. He was supposed to gather intel right? He possesed two things this Eldar seemed ready to die for: the necklace and the Terrazine. And she was dying. She probably only had minutes, if that. What better intel than a live specimen?

Morgue sent a mental ping through the forest. More Eldar were closing fast. he had to move now. "Tell you what," he said. "You promise to be good and come with me, and I'll patch you up and keep you safe." He dangled the necklace from his fingers. "If you behave, I may even give this back to you."

The Eldar's high-arched brow knitted, an inner battle raging. "Very well." she hissed.

Morgue lept to her side and hoisted her good arm over his shoulder. Together they vanished into the foliage.


	6. Chapter 6

It was quiet aboard the _Star Smasha_. At least as quiet as Ork ships get. In other words: it was boring. And for an old Ork on the cusp of Nobhood like Gorg "Bigga" Basha, it was especially boring. He was called "Bigga" because every time any Ork said he had something good like a sharp choppa or an extra killy shoota, Gorg would say "Mine's bigga!" Many of the Grots and some of the more stupid Orks under his command actually thought that was his name.

Gorg sat in the middle of his and every other Ork's favorite spot of leisure: the armory. They were lightyears from anywhere and wouldn't be in a scrap anytime soon. Gorg was thinking about changing that. He decided that during the long and strenuous process of said thinking he would check his gear. The Ork carefully scrutinized his kustom shoota, a fine weapon with heavy dakka on top and a stikk launcha under it. A choppa bayonet was bolted to the underside of the launcha barrel. Gorg enjoyed the fear and respect of many Orks and all luxuries associated with it. There was only one problem. Nobody wanted to fight him anymore and he was running low on teefs.

Gorg patted his trusty weapon and stood up. Maybe his friend Brutal Bill would be in the mood for fisticuffs. It would lighten the boredom and give Gorg a chance to make some money. He found Bill busy at his favorite pass time, terrorizing Gretchin. Bill laughed thickly as the Grots scambled over each other trying to get away.

"Oi, Bill." was all the greeting Gorg gave before driving his fist into Bill's nose. Bill reacted immediately, happy for something better than squashing Grots. The Gretchin were happy as well and made good their escape. The Nobs pounded each other merrily for several minutes before Gorg took a cheap shot at his friend's jaw. Bill spat blood and teeth onto the floor. Bill waved a good natured hand and lumbered off to find his own victims.

Gorg stooped to gather his winnings. Then something very curious and more than a little irritating happened. The teeth rolled away from him, as if someone's foot had brushed them away. The Ork pursued his quickly fleeing treasures. Once he almost had them, but at the last second they scattered again like dry leaves in the wind. Gorg roared and actually threatened the tiny bones with his gun. He chased them and chasem them until at last they fell through a grate in the floor. Gorg screamed Orkish profanities and pounded the grate. His meaty fists left impressive dents, but the metal stubbornly held. Gorg stomped off, cursing the whole way. He needed a Squigg Beer. If he didn't get a good drink soon he would tear somebody apart. In fact that sounded kind of fun, too. He might just do both.

As the huge Ork stormed off, the air fluttered over the grate and a silhouette took shape. The figure was slim, lithe with lethal elegance. The form of the Specter Nightshade vanished once again as she giggled. "That was too easy." she whispered. "This might be the funnest mission I've had yet." She resolved it would continue to be fun, and pursued the Nob.

Gorg's beer run was cut short when another Ork reported to him that the Boss wanted to see him sharpish. Gorg obediently changed direction and headed for the bridge. He shouldered his way past the guards in the main hall and waited for the massive door to open. The gear-like hatch finally rolled open and Gorg went inside. Several other Nobs were gathered as well, Boss Anvilhed's council of war. Anvilhed called this gang of Nobs the Deff Krew, of which Gorg was the newest member. The only Ork who made Gorg uncomfortable other than Anvilhed himself was Gutrippa, the leader of the Deff Krew who was fixing to replace the Boss.

It just so happened that Gorg got to stand next to Gutrippa as the Boss spoke. Gutrippa was a tank with feet, a tower of green muscle sheathed in layer upon layer of thick armor. A looted Thunder Hammer power cell was jammed into the head of his enormous cudgel. Gorg tried to ignore him while the Boss spoke.

While still a contender, Anvilhed had let space travel get to him. He hadn't been in a face to face scrap in decades, taking pleasure instead from blowing up space craft in the _Star Smasha_. The Boss was getting fat. Forget 'getting,' Anvilhed was simply obese. Though he swaggered and boasted like a Boss at the top of his game, Anvilhed kept his bridge heavily guarded to diswade challengers.

The Boss sat chuckling in his command throne, a metal chair wide enough to park a Stompa. "Can ya feel it?" Anvilhed whispered. The Deff Krew leaned in close to hear. "It's comin', boyz...da WAAAGH!"

A shiver of excitement ran through the Krew. A real WAAAGH! at last! They were in for some good fighting for sure! "Who we fightin'?" asked Gutrippa slowly. What did that matter, thought Gorg, a WAAAGH!'s a WAAAGH!

"We'll fight whoever we run into first, as always." replied Anvilhed. "Why? You got a problem?"

"Wot 'bout dem new 'umies?" Gutrippa rumbled. "Dey ain't like 'umies round 'ere, not much. Dey fights differ'nt."

The Deff Krew murmured their general agreement. Fighting these newcomers would present fun new battles and loot. "Dat's right!" said another Nob. "Wif dat gear we can surprise da reg'lar 'humies."

Anvilhed frowned. He didn't like how his Nobs were favoring another's point of view. "Shut up!" he yelled. "We're joinin' da WAAAGH! an' we'll fight whoever da Warlord tells us to! Got it?" The Nobs nodded. "Now, we'z headed to a planet outa da way sorts to loot and grab some gear. It's called Atheron."

"Atheron?" growled Gutrippa, "Dat's not even in da subsecter. Way outa our way if we'z joinin' da WAAAGH! If we'z joinin' den we should go now and get to the fightin'!"

"Shut up!" the Boss roared. "It's Atheron fer now. Got lotsa loot down dere. Old sparky stuff like wot dem Eldars have, only it's all fer us! No one's touched it since foreverz ago. Well it's Ork gear now! WAAAGH!"

Anvilhed and Gutrippa were arguing more frequntly these days. Though the Deff Krew sided with the Boss for now, it wouldn't be long before they leaned more favor of Gutrippa. Boss Anvilhed dismissed his Nobs. When they had left the main hall, Gutrippa pulled Gorg to one side. "It's his last stop." The Ork's whisper was as ominous as an approaching tidal wave.

"Wot?"

"Don't be a Grot-brain. You knowz wot I mean. Atheron is Anvilhed's last stop."

Gorg glanced back at the huge door that led to the bridge. "Yeah, I getz it. Wot you want wif me den?"

"Once I'm Boss, you'll be da new chief o' da Deff Krew, you will." Gutrippa slung a thick over Gorg's shoulder. "Right then?"

Gorg's eyes got big. "Mork! Dat sounds good!"

Gutrippa smiled. A dangerous sign, but Gorg was feeling too good to worry about it. "Squigg beers on me, den." Gutrippa brought his boulder-sized fist down on the head of a near-by Ork, spilling teeth everywhere. Gorg remembered his experience with teeth recently and cautioned the Nob.

"Oi, careful. Sumfing's up wif teefs today. I can't seem to get 'hold of 'em."

Gutrippa chuckled. "Dat's cuz you ain't good wif moneyz." He bent to pick them up. The first one he reached for wiggled just out of his grasp. Gutrippa withdrew his hand, startled. "Wot! Did...did you see...?"

Gorg groaned. "Zog. I need a drink."

Gutrippa lashed his hand back out and scooped up a handfull before they could scatter anymore. Nothing happened, so he picked up the rest slowly. They quickly left the main hall and headed for the mess room. They discussed the details of how their coup would take shape.

"It will hafta be after we getz there." explain Gutrippa as he slapped away the Grot that had brought them there beers. "He'll call us in again to show how great 'is plan wuz. Dat's how we getz past da guards dat fear 'im more. Den it's juz da boff of us. I'll challenge 'im, and you back me. Right?"

Gorg nodded. "How duz we keep da rest of da Deff Krew from jumpin' us?"

Gutrippa waved a hand. "I wun most o' dem ages ago. Wif you on board, da last bolt in da Buggie iz got. No one to come to da fat cow-squigg's 'elp den."

As the two Nobs laughed, a faint shadow slipped away from their table completely unnoticed. Nightshade smiled to herself. Who would imagine such a thing? Plots, murder, intrigue. Even these Orks were capable of it. She would keep special tabs on Gutrippa. He was the devious schemer, something he and the Specter had in common. Nightshade left the plotting pair to their drinks and vanished.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Thank you all so much for the brainstorming! Here's to everyone who contributed._

Jim fired a volley into yet another wave of Chaos Marines. The monstrous U-238 Guass rounds pirced several soldiers deep at such close range, especially among the weakly armored heretics. Several large brutes broke through the wall of bullets and rushed the line. One particularly big Chaos Marine lunged at Raynor, swinging a furiously whirring chainsword. Jim used his bayonet to fend off the first few attacks. The chainsword ripped chunks off the C-14 with ease, and Jim was forced to discard the weapon. The Chaos Marine aimed an overhead arch with the chainsword at him. Raynor caught hold of the warrior's forearm and drew his revolver. The Chaos Marine grabbed Jim's arm in turn and struggled to point the gun away from himself. In the exertion, Jim squeezed the trigger when he thought it pointed close to the warrior. The round missed, however, and struck a heretic coming to the aid of his master.

The Chaos Marine bore down hard, he was clearly many times stronger than Jim even without power armor. Warning lights on Raynor's heads-up-display indicated the pnumatics in his own armor were beginning to fail. Realizing his opponent was weakening, the Chaos Marine cackled and revved his chainsword near Raynor's faceplate.

The evil warrior leaned close. His helmet bore semblance to an angry scream. Skulls, spikes, blades, and numerous eerie runes completely covered his combat shell. "Foolish weakling!" He hissed, "You thought you could survive against the unhallowed might of Chaos? No man can withstand the Dark Gods!"

Behind Jim, an armored hulk bounded over a nearby bunker. "WAAAGH!" Broozgiva bellowed as he sprayed bullets from the rifles bolted to his arms. The Chaos Marine staggered back as the storm of rounds struck him. Desperately, he swung the chainsword in the Ork's direction. Broozgiva knocked the weapon away with the thickly armored Fire-Bat side of his armor and fired point blank with a Punisher grenade from the Marauder side. "No man," he growled, "But 'ow 'bout an ORK?"

Jim stared at the Ork. "You saved my life."

Broozgiva looked at him, puzzled. "Did I? Oh, I guess so. More tryin' to pop dis 'ere Chaos git."

Raynor flicked open the cylinder of his revolver and replaced the wasted round. "Well, you have my thanks nevertheless."

The Ork blinked. "Wot? Wot's dat?"

"I said thank you." Jim looked down at his butchered C-14. His revolver was powerful, but it wouldn't suffice in a hold-out like this. "I need a new rifle."

"On it, Boss!" Broozgiva turned, revealing a dozen assault rifles strapped to his back. "I packs extries. Neva goes noplace wiffout dakka no more. You taught me dat, Boss."

Raynor pulled off the nearest gun and scavenged his destroyed rifle for ammunition. They truned their attention back to the battlefield. A Predator tank was rolling towards them, its cannon blasting indiscriminately into the Raiders' lines. The huge black tank fired non-stop from its sponson Heavy Bolter, pinning down even Marauders from taking it out. From the open top hatch, a Chaos Marine howled dark threats and insults from the safety of his perch.

Broozgiva noticed that, given the tank's current course, he would be either blown up or crushed. That Predator had to go. "Oi, Boss! Wez need to 'splode dat wagon sharpish!" The Ork jumped up and ran, strafing the tank with grenade fire.

Jim cursed. "What does that crazy Ork think he's doing?" Then he saw it. The Predator latched onto Broozgiva and swung all guns to target him. He was a distraction.

Raynor took the initiative and charged the tank. He fired and took out the Chaos Marine standing up out of the hatch. He dove and rolled to evade the sponson Heavy Bolter and grabbed the top rim of the armor plating. Hauling himself up, he snatched a grenade from his munition belt. Jim tore out the pin and put the live explosive in the stiffening hand of the dead Chaos Marine. He gave the deceased warrior a pat and push and slammed the hatch shut.

A nearby heretic saw him and clambered onto the doomed Predator, lashing out with a needle-like sword. Jim pushed the madman away and jumped off the tank. The heretic followed him and grabbed his battle-suit. With inhuman strength the zealot clawed and pulled at him, all the while screaming pledges to Chaos. Raynor threw a pneumatic-fueled punch that tossed the heretic like a rag doll into the path of the Predator's treads. He turned and ran before he could see the man be crushed. He had mere seconds before-

An explosion rocked the earth and flung Jim forward. He fell in the snow and quickly pushed himself back up. He readied his C-14 and took in the battle around him. Siege Tank rounds continued to gut the ranks of the Chaos forces, and a nearby Thor was mopping up a remnants of a Noise Marine squad. The soldiers of darkness began a reluctant retreat, many refusing outright to flee. They finally coaxed their troops into a fighting withdrawal and backed out of artillery range.

Jim knew they hadn't been beaten yet. They wouldn't be until the Raiders struck back. He switched on his comlink. "Tychus, meet me at the Command Center. We gotta finish this."

.

Tychus was already waiting for them beneath the shadow of the colossal Ibiks cannon. He drew on his cigar and tossed it into the snow as Raynor and Broozgiva approached him. "Somethin' ain't right 'bout them Chaos Marines, Jimmy." he said. "They're worse than that nut Tosh. Loads worse."

"There is something off about them." Jim agreed. "Regardless, we have to put an end to this thing now. Kyrus can't be far away. We have to be ready to fight him, and we can't do that with these psychos knocking on our door."

"Sure enough. But these guys are even more 'diplomatic' than I am. And you know all about my sense of diplomacy."

Broozgiva offered his opinion. "We'z too bogged down 'ere, Boss. We gots ta get on da move and give 'em a real Waaagh!"

"We can't move our whole force." said Jim. "That'd be suicide. However, we do need to go on the offensive. A surgical strike in just the right spot might do the trick." He moved to a portable communication console and hailed the Hyperion. "Matt, we need a scan sweep of the enemy's position. Can you spot any weaknesses or critical assets?"

Matt's reply was riddled with static. "Scanning. There's a lot of interference."

"Can you pinpoint the source of the interference? If they're jamming us then they obviously want to hide something."

More static, and worsening. "...seems to be concentrated...orth-east about twenty kilom...From what I can see...lightly defended...Maybe-"

The signal cut out entirely. Thunder rumbled above them and a dark cloud passed over the base. Jim glared at the sudden storm. These clouds did not seem natural, but rolled and boiled like a sickly smog. Off-color bolts of lightning sparked and slashed, followed by unusually loud thunder. "Is it just me," Raynor muttered, "Or is that storm coming out of the north?"

Tychus glanced at him. "What? You think those batty cultists can affect the weather?"

"We've seen stranger things."

Tychus sighed. "Well, rain or shine; if our strike team's gonna get anything done by the time Mr. Librarian arrives, we best be on our way."

Raynor selected some of the best of his Raiders for the squad. Broozgiva welded onto his armor as many extra weapons as he had surface space for and packed dozens more for the rest of the team to use. Jim thought the weight must be enormous, but the Ork wasn't strained in the least. Indeed, he was disappointed when he simply couldn't hold on to any more weapons.

They were ready in just under an hour. The Chaos Marines hadn't attacked any more since their last assault. The bunkers and combat vehicles were being repaired during the lull, and Jim was confident the line would hold while they were gone. The strike team departed under cover of the darkening sky. The thick snow did wonders to muffle even Broozgiva's tramping steps, so they moved with respectable stealth.

They traversed a range of steep hills that looked oddly like iced-over buildings. As they slipped down the final slope, a vast, open valley lay before them. Normally such a valey would be hazardous to a group trying to move unseen. However, fortune favored the Raiders. The valley was densely populated with the husks of ruined tanks and scavenged power armor. They darted from cover to cover, staying low and fast.

Past the valley lay an ice cave. Switching on the lights mounted on their armor and weapons, the Raiders cautiously entered. Broozgiva activated his own armor lights, one the headlight ripped off a personnel carrier, the other an industrial strength pincer lamp. The Ork lit the cave chamber like sunlight. They discovered the cave was not natural, but a victim structure of the flash-freeze. Pillars, chairs, desks, security cameras, and weapons all bore a hard sheet of ice. In a place like this an ambush could happen at any time. They moved slowly, but the building was empty.

The doors leading out were frozen shut, but Tychus kicked them open with ease. Outside, a ledge stretched out about 4 yards and then plunged into a city-sized crater. Jim could see off in the distance a foggy pillar pluming up into the storm from what must be the crater's center.

"We're close." he said, "Come on. Stay sharp."

Getting down the slope was not a problem. Getting past the now-frequent patrols was. While heavily armed, the guards seemed distracted. They appeared to be overwhelmingly interested in the billowing storm and its epicenter. But even an unfocused Chaos Marine is always on the alert for enemies to slay. The floor of the crater was bare rock and sand. The muffling snow had disappeared.

It was time consuming and difficult, but the Raiders got by. More than once Jim was sure they'd been spotted. But fate seemed to have other plans for James Raynor than to die by Chaos hands. At last they reached the source of the storm, the cloud pillar towering dreadful and imposing above them. It welled up from a huge pit ridged with sharp rocks. A fell chanting hovered over the moaning, dust-choked wind.

The Raiders looked at each other nervously. Whatever lay beyond the veil of sand, it couldn't be good. The dark chanting peaked, and with the last word the smog column pulled itself into the tainted sky. The thunder quieted and the wind died completely. A hot, red glow filled the pit, casting everything in a stark, bloody light.

Jim shielded his eyes until they adjusted to the sudden illumination. Deep in the hollow stood a fiery globe cradled in a black ring above the ground. Eight sickly-looking figures surrounded a lone person. All knelt and faced inward save the one, who stood with arms outstretched to the angry sphere.

A woman's voice cried out, the one in the midst of the others was female. "The gate is now open! Hear now your servant, Dark Ones! Behold and see! I have opened you domain to unleash your malevolent splendor upon this realm of squirming mortals! I dedicate this portal to you, Great Fiends, and all your dark devices! Bestow upon your faithful her reward as promised!"

The light of the gateway grew until it was unbearable. When Jim could see again he stared in horror at the scene below him. The eight cultists lay dead, their flesh rotting away with unbelievable speed. The woman in the center convulsed and shook. Her body was changing, transforming into a horrid, malignant thing. Suddenly she vanished in an explosion of twisting, scaly coils and crackling energy. A creature rose out of the pit so horrid, Raynor had only seen a few more frightening Zerg.

The thing breathed terror and exuded an aura of wretchedness. It could best be described as a giant cobra, several stories tall, with a woman's torso and eight muscled and clawed arms. The beast was heavily armored, and each pair of arms held a set from top to bottom of swords, orbs, skulls, and gems. The unblinking, slit-pupil eye gushed violet fire, and when the creature exhaled, it snorted lightning bolts.

She twisted to face the Raiders, her forked, black tongue flicking out and savoring their dread. She spoke, her voice high and dominating like the crash of a waterfall. "James Raynor. Gaze now upon the mother of your doom. I am Fasraath, Queen of Sin, and Demon Princess. Do you fear me, James, as you fear your foes of old? Or is your terror spent? Please let me fill you with sweet anguish."


	8. Chapter 8

"Scatter!" screamed Raynor. The Raiders lept for safety as the Daemon lunged. A few were able to find cover before the creature struck. Fasraath flicked her blades and cleanly sliced several soldiers into pieces with contemptuous ease. From their sparsely sheltered positions, the marines who had escaped took aim and fired. A Marauder managed to land a well-placed grenade squarely on the Daemon's reptilian snout, only to be gutted by her sword an instant later. Broozgiva unleashed a torrent of fire from his flamethrower arm, but succeeded only in angering her. The Ork was canny enough to slip away before she retaliated. The Daemon's constant movement and writhing of serpentine coils made getting a clear shot nearly impossible, and many rounds from Jim's sniper rifle went wide. Raynor couldn't believe the extreme lethality of the monster attacking them. Within seconds she had killed nearly all of the elite squad of Raiders he had taken on this mission. This was an impossible battle.

"Jim!" Tychus called over the com. "We gotta scram like a bat outa whatever hell this thing crawled out of or we're dead!"

Jim's mind raced. Both staying put and trying to run would get them eviscerated. They could try calling in a drop ship, but unless the pilot was the best the universe had ever known, the Daemon would swat them down in no time. The only other partially viable option was to call for orbital support and glass the ten square miles they shared with their enemy. Their prospects were grim at best.

Raynor looked over the short ledge of rock that served as cover. Fasraath used her tools of destruction to decimate the Raiders. From the Chaos Tokens in her claws spewed unnatural flames and bolts of lightning. Debris rained down from the blasts, including armor from squad mates, further demoralizing the marines. Unlike all the Raiders, Broozgiva appeared to be in his element. He jumped from spot to spot, popping up to blast the Daemon with rokkits or spray it with bullets. Jim could have sworn he seemed...happy.

Raynor noticed a trio of marines taking up position behind the Daemon while she was distracted with the Ork. One of her orbs flashed, and before they could even fire, Fasraath whirled and killed them all. Jim put the two event together. "The orbs are acting like extra eyes!" he radioed his trooped. "Take out the orbs before attempting a flank."

Upon hearing the order, a brave Raider took an opportunity when Fasraath turned once again and scored several lucky rounds on her carapace. The slugs punched divots in her armor and pierced one of the eerie globes. The Daemon howled with rage as the orb shattered. Fasraath descended on the marine and caught him in her jaws. Venomous fangs punctured his armor as she crushed him, then spat his limp form to the ground. Only a handful of Raider remained alive, all of whom stayed behind cover upon the death of the Daemon's victim.

An odd silence poured into the air. Even Broozgiva had gone to ground. Jim extended a small fiber-optic camera from the tiny utility unit in his gauntlet and poked it around his cover. Fasraath was now calmly searching for her prey-in-hiding. The ground beneath her scaly mass was littered with dead Raiders. The Daemon hissed a laugh of pleasure from the grisly scene surrounding her. "You cannot hide you thoughts from me, James Raynor. The Dark Gods grant me power you cannot fathom. At least not yet."

Jim quietly reloaded his weapon. "Is this the part where you offer me everything I could possibly want to try and win me over? Add your name to the list, sweetheart."

Fasraath cackled. "Such bravado. But my offer is genuine, James Raynor. Yours is a unique soul. You could be so much more than you are if you joined me."

Raynor poked the barrel of his sniper over the edge of cover and took aim. "Is it a requirement for every screwed up, evil nut-case to attempt to recruit their enemies? You must not watch many holo-vids, because that always ends badly."

"You cloak your feelings with an argument of fiction." Fasraath hissed. "Yet you use it to defend your harsh reality, when the power I speak of could change all the suffering in your life." she took a rasping breath and flicked her black tongue. "I can taste the sweet anguish in your heart. It is an acquired taste, one you do not yet savor. And so I offer you this boon: side with the Dark Gods, and I will restore to you Sarah Kerrigan."

Jim's heart froze. He gritted his teeth and balled his fists. Why was the solution he sought always associated with such terrible consequences? No, he told himself, even if this inhuman creature could change Kerrigan back, she wouldn't be the same. They would both be tied to the Daemon forever. Jim channeled his frustration into his weapon. He stood up out of cover. "'Restore' this!" Jim squeezed the trigger. Fasraath spun, pleased her ploy to draw him out had worked, only to be met by a Mk 12 Penetrator round.

The monstrous bullet blew a gash all the way across the Daemon's hooded skull. Fasraath screamed and writhed as dark blood gushed out of the wound. Broozgiva reappeared again and rallied the remaining Raiders. "Kill it! Kill! Smash! Crush! WAAAGH!" Raynor's troops emerged from their cover and drove the injured Daemon back towards the portal. Fasraath was nearly to the portal boundaries when her rage peaked.

"ENOUGH!" she screamed. The Daemon held up the gems she clung to and hissed a strange word. A blinding shockwave blasted the Raiders a dozen yards. When his vision returned, Jim looked back at Fasraath. Behind her the portal swelled and undulated. An unseen boundary burst from around the fiery sphere, and raw dread spilled out. Fasraath lifted her blades until the twin tips touched above her bleeding head. "I had hoped," she continued, "To assimilate with world into the Warp and reign as its queen. I shall be more pleased now, however, to see it burned from existence! My servants are Legion, James Raynor, and they will tear you apart!"

Jim could now see dark shapes and silhouettes forming within the portal. An army was coming. Tychus and Broozgiva made their way to where Jim still lay and hauled him to his feet. The Ork glanced back at the approaching horde. "Dat ain't good, Boss. We should, uh...leave."

Tychus cursed. "Nice plan, brainiac. Jim, there's no way we can out run that."

Raynor realized they were out of options. "We won't have to...if we live. That army's not what we'll have to outrun."

Broozgiva's eye went wide. "Wot?"

Jim hailed the Hyperion. "Matt. We could use your help right now. As in right this second! Matt!"

A blast of static burst over the coms and then subsided. "...what you can to boost the signal, Jim's calling! Jim! Finally! What is going on? The signals coming from your location are unbelievable!"

"Matt, listen. There's no time. Lock onto the center of whatever you're reading. Come in fast and low and fire the primary cannon, full power."

There was a collective "WHAT?" from both Matt and the Raiders around Jim. "Jim, you'll never outrun the blast. I'm sending a pick-up-"

"You have to. Matt, if you don't wipe out that enigma, the whole base will be overrun. Trust me."

The radio was quiet fro several seconds. "Start running..."

That was all the Raiders had to hear. Every man fled for his life. Broozgiva, despite his stocky legs and burdensome load, managed to outrun all of them. Overhead a titanic shadow engulfed them. The Hyperion soared above them, a bright sphere of atomic matter forming at its nose. The roar of the engines and the whine of the gathering energy deafened the Raiders and foretold of impending destruction.

"Jimmy!" Tychus yelled somewhere behind him. "We're too close!

Raynor didn't stop or turn. "I know that! That's why we're running! Run faster!"

Back at the portal entrance, the first of Fasraath's minions were just emerging. The Daemon Princess herself stared mesmerized by the on-coming ship and its promise of death. She flicked her black tongue, tasting some of the blood that trickled down her face. "This isn't over, James Raynor." Fasraath slipped through the portal just as the Hyperion's building energy reached its summit. The Battlecruiser discharged its mighty cannon, propelling a man-made sun at many times the speed of sound into the heart of the Chaos portal. The two balls of energy globbed together for an instant, then detonated.

The Raiders were flung forward hundreds of yards by the catastrophic blast, a tidal wave of fire closing quickly. Jim and the others slammed into the ground, each marine carving out a foxhole by the sheer force of his impact. It was those very craters that saved their lives. The cannon's consequential firestorm passed over them, leaving them bruised and burned, but at least not dead.

Though not unconscious, by the time the super-heated atomic frenzy ended, Jim lacked the will to moved for several minutes. He had to have broken bones in that fall, and he was in no hurry to remind them of their state. Jim heard heavy foot falls approach him. "Oi, Boss," Broozgiva said slowly, "You zogged?"

"No," he replied weakly. "Not yet." Tychus and the Ork helped Jim gingerly to his feet. He looked around at the other Raiders picking themselves up from the impact. After Jim caught his breath, "How many are walking home?"

"All but three." answered Tychus. "One's hurt pretty bad. Two dead. Drop ship's on its way."

Two more dead, Jim thought, how many more until this insane mission was over? The Raiders painfully made their way to the ship when it landed. On board medics tended the wounded. They made dust off the second the last man strapped in. Jim made a bee-line for the radio console. "Good work, Matt. Target destroyed. We're heading back to base to-"

"Jim, the base is under attack!" Matt sounded panicked. "The second we fired, the base started getting hit on all sides. Whatever we destroyed sure made our new friends awful mad."

Jim thumped a fist against the bulkhead. "This is bull. I have a feeling we just destroyed what Kyrus may have wanted here. If he wants to wade through these freaks to find a crater, fine by me. I'm initiating an evac, get everyone off-world now. Let's get off this ice cube before it turns into the graves of any more of my men.

"Aye, sir."

The pilot glanced at Raynor. "So we're headed back to the Hyperion, sir?"

"No. Hold course for the base. I'm getting as many out as I can."

...

The base was in worse shape than Jim feared. The entire perimeter had collapsed, leaving the Raiders only hastily made new bunkers and the support structures as their only cover. They had been pushed nearly all the way back to the Command Center, a boon for Raiders as the Ibiks Cannon shattered tank after tank of the frenzied Chaos Marines. A lone and damaged Thor provided the only committed anti-air, knocking out Raptors before they could land and shred the infantry. Jim's transport touched down just as the last Siege Tank burst apart.

Jim was greeted by a sergeant, not the major he'd left in charge. "Hope your day's been better than ours, sir!" he yelled over the din. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd like to resign my commission as CO to you and get off this rock."

"We're all getting off, sergeant." Raynor answered. "The strategic value of this real estate has changed to 'spit poor.'"

The sergeant called over his shoulder as he left to inform the men, "And to think I was going to build my summer home here!"

The evacuation was messy. Several full drop ships were destroyed on take off, but most made it off the ground. One or two more were boarded by Raptors and brought down. The Thor was battered beyond saving, and the Command Center could not lift off with the Ibiks cannon. Both were set to self-destruct. Jim looked out the stern view port as the ships made full speed for the Hyperion. Twin explosions rocked the planet beneath them, and Jim took a tiny morsel of satisfaction in that he had just avenged most of his men.

Jim joined Matt on the bridge immediately after shedding his armor. He had miraculously escaped with minor injuries, and only required minimal attention. "Set course." he rumbled. "Anywhere but here."

"Aye, sir" Matt said quietly.

Jim collapsed in the captain's chair and fussed with the cap of his canteen. He downed a large mouthful and put a hand to his head. Every crewman on the bridge knew to stay silent during moments like these, moments when the only word to describe a mission was 'disaster.' Jim usually sailed past things like this on a steady flow of whisky alone in the rec room. Jim didn't quite feel like himself right now. What was wrong with this galaxy? Jim recalled the cool, up-beat temperament of his friend Fenix. The Protoss warrior had stayed vibrant even through his devastating defeat by the Zerg. Even though his own body had been torn apart, he had refused to submit, demanding his kin inter him in the combat exo-skeleton of a Dragoon. Fenix had been slain for a second and final time again by the Zerg. He wished Fenix was here now. He wished-

"Sir! Imperium ships exiting warp-space, a full company fleet."

Jim snapped out of his daze and jumped to the view-port. Imperium ships were indeed arriving by the score, the largest of which was better than twice the size of the Hyperion. On each and every vessel was brandished the colors and emblems of the Blood Ravens Space Marines Chapter.

Matt joined him on the observation platform. "Looks like the Blood Ravens got word out after all. Now we can set things right."

"Commander Raynor, sir, you are being hailed...by name."

Jim threw Matt a puzzled look. "Sounds like word gets around in this neighborhood." He pressed the open comms channel at the communications console. "Commander Raynor speaking."

A baritone voice laced with poisonous gratitude answered him. "Greetings, Commander. I must congratulate you for your major victory here. You have done a great service for the Blood Ravens."

"Who is this? How could you have already known about what happened here? I wouldn't call it a victory. More like a slaughter."

A sickening chuckle. "Ah, my young friend. Slaughter _is_ victory. It is the only victory. I know what transpired here because I knew the inevitable would occur. You found my message on Calderia, as I knew someone eventually would. And, of course, you, being the bold and valorous James Raynor, would attempt to save this already dead world. Through your efforts and sacrifice, Commander, a large thorn has been removed from my side."

Jim pounded the console. "Identify yourself, you arrogant-"

"I am your quarry, Chapter Master Azariah Kyrus. The Chaos stronghold you clashed with here was the greatest threat to my Ascendance. On behalf of the entire Chapter, I thank you."

Jim felt sick to his stomach. Kyrus had manipulated him, and now had him in a very precarious corner. "Matt," he whispered, "Get us out of here." No one moved. The entire bridge was paralyzed by a sudden, almost tangible fear. "Matt!" Jim repeated, "We need to go _now!_"

Another voice came in over the channel. "Chapter Master, it occurs to me that these unfortunate men may have been exposed to the taint of Chaos on Aurelia's surface."

Kyrus laughed. "You may be correct, Brother. It would be a mercy then to cleanse them of it. All ships, purge the corrupted ship at once."

Matt suddenly came to himself and dashed to the nav-computer, frantically searching for a sequence to make an escape jump.

Evil thrummed from Kyrus' voice. "Skulls...for the Skull Throne..." The transmission ended.

Every ship in the Blood Ravens Company Fleet turned to fire at the Hyperion. The Battlecruiser turned painfully slowly away from the attacking vessels. Matt guided the ship at full speed, his finger hovering over the key that would jump them to safety.

"Rear guns!" shouted Jim, "Open fire! I don't care that they aren't in range, just give them something to think about!"

"Thirty seconds..." whispered Matt. Dull thumps signaled the pounding of the rear guns as they tried to dissuade their pursuers. Louder thumps hailed the return fire breaking on their shields. "Twenty-five..."

"Sir, they are closing with us. We will be in primary cannon range soon."

"Fifteen..."

"Commander, they're firing main guns!"

"Hold course!" Jim shouted.

"Ten...nine..."

"Shields gone! Deploying point defense drones."

"Five..."

"Drones depleted! One more volley and we-"

"NOW!" Matt jammed the key and Hyperion shot away from the blood-thirsty Space Marines. A collective breath was released on the whole bridge, and probably the entire ship. Matt fell back into his seat. "Next stop," he sighed, "Anywhere but here, as per your orders, sir. Jim?"

Raynor had left the bridge.


	9. Chapter 9

The alien was getting weaker. Her stumbling steps became more and more slack until Morgue was half dragging her. Even for her considerably slight build, she was surprisingly light. Her vitals were dangerously faint. He had to get her patched up now. Morgue pulsed for enemies several times, but always the enemy contacts were too close. Finally they staggered into a clearing enclosed by tall shrubs. Morgue decided they would hide here, hope for the best, and silence anyone who found them. Psionic signatures crowded around them, at one point completely circling them. Morgue kept his psychic cloak at full strength as he quietly laid down his burden and opened his emergency med-kit. His captive's own signature was already low enough and required no extra shielding.

Morgue patched the wound and gave her an injection of viscosity enhancement, hypertonic saline, a blood thickener. The needle of the syringe was also coated with nano-bots that would fight off infection and mend the skin. At least they would on a human. Morgue made a pillow of his pack and watched the unconscious woman while he mentally pinged for enemies. The searchers had passed them over, and their safety cushion was widening. The Specter relaxed his shields and released his face-mask. Cool, moist air, smelling strongly of the native vegetation, pressed against his sweat-slick face. Morgue took the rare opportunity to observe nature through his own eyes and not the HUD of his goggles.

Morgue absently pulled a Terrazine phial from his belt and opened it. A dose without the Twitch was always less sharp, but it was nice to let the fumes mix with natural oxygen. He exhaled through his nostrils, violet smoke wreathing his head. Morgue blinked the unnatural colors out of his eyes and glanced at his prisoner. She was awake and glaring at him with tired eyes.

Morgue looked up through the leafy canopy at the emerging stars. This was camp for the night. It occurred to him that the alien might not remain conscious for long. His objective was information retrieval, and he intended to collect. He sat up and matched her glower. "Answers." he said.

She looked away, disgust lining her perfect face. "How large is your force deployment here?" he asked. "How many patrols?" She closed her eyes and pretended to fall asleep. Morgue continued, "How long will you stay here? Are you fortifying?"

Clearly, no answers were forthcoming. The Specter would not be deterred. Morgue reached into his pack and pulled out her glittering jewel. Even in the fading light it gleamed brilliantly. He toyed with it, letting the delicate chain jingle loudly. She finally looked at him, danger flashing fiercely in her eyes.

"Answers." Morgue repeated more forcefully. "Information for progress. More answers, better chances." He leaned forward, dangling the gem from his fingers. "Force deployment..."

She sat up painfully and hand a hand to her bandages. "Animal filth." she hissed, "Even for a savage Mon-Keigh, you are brutish and crude. It pains me more than my rent flesh that such affinity for the Warp resides in your foul carcass."

Morgue was above insults. He swung the necklace back and forth. "What is your objective on this planet?"

The alien sniffed. "How typical," she retorted, "That a human toys with an object they cannot possibly understand, just to achieve their own ends. Such behavior has destroyed countless fools before you. You have but to add your name to them."

Morgue grunted. He was not making headway. He stuffed the necklace back in his pack and balanced his rifle on his knees in ready position to shoot her in she made the slightest motion to escape. "You may feel better in the morning." They stared at each other for a long time, each waiting for the other to nod off first. Morgue pulled out a ration bar and began chewing it, showing her he could out last her. There was an odd look to her as she watched him eat. Recovering from a would like that, she must be starving. He broke off a piece and held it up. "Compromise. I'll settle for your name."

She stared down at her feet. "I will not partake of your human food."

"Then feed it to your pride."

"I am not hungry." she lied. A piteous gurgle rumbled up from her belly. Her cheeks turned pink.

Morgue's mouth cracked into an amused half-smile. "Name."

She reached out slowly and took the morsel, snatching back her hand quickly. As she nibbled the bar she whispered, "Sa'antha, of Craftworld Rauco'dangir."

Morgue nodded. Now he was getting somewhere. "The rest of it is yours if you answer a few more questions. Just low priority information for tonight. I do need you rested after all if you're going to be any use."

Sa'antha glared at him but accepted the food. "Perhaps it is human custom to abuse their betters. Just what does your primitive mind seek enlightenment upon?"

"Let's start there: why the attitude?"

Sa'antha let her eyes drift sky-ward. "My people commanded the stars before the lesser races stumbled upon the art of speech. A few species we tutored, others we simply watched. More still were beneath our attention."

Morgue leaned back against his pack. "You think very highly of yourselves."

"And humans do not? Our glory was a gift from the gods themselves. The Mon-Keigh make themselves the masters of all they see. How many innocent lives have withered in the name of humanity's 'magnificence?' And this culling extends not only to the Xeno, but to your own kind."

Morgue decided to change the topic. "What is 'Craftworld Rauno'dangir?'"

"My home." she replied, swallowing more of the ration bar.

"That I gathered." The Specter pressed, "What is a Craftworld? Is it your home world?"

Sa'antha bowed her head sadly. "Eldar have no home world." she whispered.

Morgue heard in her voice that this was sensitive information. He redirected. "Your people are nomadic then. Are you tribal?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps not in the sense you are using for that term. The Craftworlds and their people are separated by the chill void, but we are all Eldar." Sa'antha shifted uncomfortably and winced. "At times of great shame we have occasionally been plagued by internal strife. This is not common."

Morgue chose his words carefully. She may be answering only because she was caught up in the history of her race, and not because he actually sought this information. He had to keep her talking. "Your people travel in these Craftworlds?"

"Yes. It has been so for longer than you can fathom." Sa'antha winced again and rubbed her bindings.

Morgue glanced at her bandages. Her wound was obviously bothering her. "That's all for now."

Sa'antha looked him over cautiously. When it was clear he was truly finished with his questions, she took the opportunity. "I have told you much. I believe that merits some answers from you in return."

"Oh, does it?"

Her will was equal to his. "I gave you my name, now what is yours?"

Morgue grunted. "I travel light. A name doesn't fit in my pack."

"Curious." Sa'antha tilted her head. "You are a wanderer yourself then. Such a path is not taken without a troubled past."

Morgue patted his rifle. "My past is death. I prefer to leave it in its grave."

"You soul bears the scars of a soldier. You shield yourself well, human, but even a faint touch reveals the gashes."

Morgue tightened the grip on his gun. He had to stay focused. He hadn't even felt her psychic probe! "I'm more than a soldier." he hissed. "I'm a Specter!"

Sa'antha gulped the last piece of the bar. "Specter? In the poetic sense or military?"

"Poetry is for the weak. The strong kill the weak. And Specters kill the strong."

"You are the elite of your warriors then." Her eyes flicked to his belt. "Does your strange gas have anything to do with that?"

Morgue stared for a moment, then laughed coldly to himself. How easily he had allowed her to move the conversation that way. He decided to humor her. "Yes, it is part of Specter augmentation."

"You seem to treat it like medicine or - what did you call it earlier? - "candy?"

Morgue shrugged. "Strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to."

"Why is that?"

He answered her with silence. Sa'antha pressed. "Where can it be found?"

Morgue idly flicked off a spider crawling up his boot. "Why? You feeling the craving? Why are you so interested?"

Sa'antha hugged her knees with her good arm. "The power I felt when I breathed it. All Eldar are psykers, but that gas...in the hands of an Exarch or Farseer. It could change the fate of the war, perhaps even the whole galaxy."

"Change it to what, exactly?"

Sa'antha gave him a very serious look. "Peace."

Morgue snorted. Peace was a dream, a fantasy of idealistic fools. Let the alien have her delusions. Sa'antha kept going. "If we could acquire merely a sample..."

"No."

"We might be able to replicate it. Improve it."

"No."

Sa'antha fell into a frustrated silence, a frown creasing her beautiful face. She sat quietly for a long time, favoring her wounded shoulder. Morgue watched her closely, she seemed near to dozing off any moment. It wust have been close to midnight when she suddenly put a hand into her side pack and began to rummage through it. Her searching grew agitated when she could not find what she sought. After a futile search, she cursed in her native tongue. "Atha-_nah!_ Shin 'al fan'ireth!"

Morgue blinked in surprise. He could not only hear her words, but could also sense them. Even the Eldar language was psionically tuned. Her meaning was perfectly clear, even if he did not know the translation of the words themselves. A vital piece of equipment was missing, something that also had deep personal significance.

He decided to down-play. "Lose something?"

Sa'antha shook her head and sighed angrily. "It's nothing." she lied. After a few minutes her frustration seemed to cool, and she at last dozed into a fitful sleep. Morgue felt secure enough now to grant himself some shut-eye as well. Keeping his gun trained on the alien, the Specter allowed his eye-lids to slowly close.

All Specters have nightmares. The lucky ones just get more mild ones, and Morgue didn't consider himself lucky at all. He had heard other Specters talk about theirs; targets' faces flashing in their vision, dead relatives talking to them, and an emotion long burned away by Project Shadowblade called 'guilt.' All sorts of weird, bump-in-the-night stuff. People thought the Specters were eccentric? They had no idea what bizarre was.

"Subject is ready for treatment, sir." said a woman standing above him.

"Proceed." replied a harsh, static-riddled voice.

"What are you gonna do to me?" quivered a child's terrified question. "Where's my mom?"

The woman ignored him. "Set the restraints. Prep the implants for insertion."

A male assistant somewhere behind him said, "Doctor, this tech is still experimental. Not even the animal subjects have-"

"We aren't trying to make psychic rats. He'll be fine. I've never seen a better candidate."

"I still think we're moving too fast."

"if we wait any longer, he'll be too old for augmentation. It happens now, or not at all. And I am not losing this one."

The child was crying. "I want to go home!"

"You'll be ok." the assistant said quietly. "It won't take long, just try to-"

"I said prep the implants! If you want him to live through this as much as I do, then do what you are told!"

"Yes, doctor."

"And get me a sharper scalpel while you're at it."

The sounds and images clouded. Morgue was now kneeling over a horrifically mangled body. His own body was small, at least much smaller than he ever remembered it being. His tiny hands were searching the pockets and belt loops of a burly adult male. Keys, ID card, codes, notes, anything! As he searched he was suddenly hoisted off the ground by invisible forces and hurled into a nearby wall. Morgue's combat instincts kicked in, but this body was far too sluggish.

"Impressive." said a wheezy voice rich with deadly pleasure. "Haven't seen carnage like this in a while. You're a real killer, kid. You've got blood on your hands, now. Welcome home."

Morgue's body was older now, much more tuned and fit. The same wheezy voice gargled up from between his tightly clutched hands. "This can't be happening! This...can't be..."

Suddenly squeezing the life out of the man wasn't enough. Images upon images flashed through his mind of how many ways he could make him suffer even better. The flurry on thought built and built until they collapsed upon themselves and formed a mental projectile, while Morgue did not hesitate to launch at his victim with all his might. Something wet and hot splashed his arms, chest and face. All at once his hands didn't have anything to hold onto.

He sat there, straddling the corpse, gagging and crying. A rumble of approaching footsteps hailed his re-capture. He didn't care. He had done what he had set out to do. A male voice, "Holy-! It's like a slaughter-house! Get that freak in solitary right now! Maximum security, level Shadow-Alpha! And get these bodies to the morgue..."

Heavy hands grabbed him and dragged him away. They took him down a long, long dark hallway. There was only one door at the end. Something bubbled up from this body's memories about this place. He'd been here before. Several times actually. A room spoken off only in whispers. What he and others called 'The Basement.' The men did not merely throw him in. That was not how the Basement worked. He was hung upside down with his arms chained spread-eagle to either side. A beeping collar was fastened around his neck. The collar shut off senses he had come to rely on. Everything was now dark and lifeless as the men slammed the thick, metal door as they left.

Morgue woke and reflexively brought his rifle into firing position. The first fingers of daylight were beginning to chase the stars away. Sa'antha was still sleeping. He wondered mildly what sort of things she was seeing. The grisly events stills swimming in his mind made him sick. he couldn't stay here any longer. He made sure the clip in the gun was fresh and snapped the firing chamber. The sharp clang of metal roused the alien.

The Specter hauled her to her feet. "Come on. I hate this place."


	10. Chapter 10

The landscape changed little. Morgue and his captive pushed through mostly forested slopes, at one point entering and crossing an open sea of tall grass. The trees sprung up again and climbed a series of rocky cliffs. A small river cut a snaking path through most of the range. Since it mostly kept with their direction, they were able to tread the moist sand of its shores and avoid strenuous climbing.

A cool cloud covering hid the sun and threatened light rain. Morgue stopped their march to change Sa'antha's bandages so they wouldn't rot in the moisture. She watched him closely as he examined her. The wound was healing well. It wasn't as far along as Morgue had hoped. Apparently, the nano-bots only worked for human physiology. Regardless, it was mending quickly on its own. The bullet had gone through and through, so no surgery was needed.

Morgue glanced for a moment at her. She was glaring angrily at the spot he was tending to. He sensed she was more angry about the fragility of her armor rather than the wound itself. Probably offended that a human weapon dared pierce the armor her high and mighty race had built.

When he had almost finished, Sa'antha spoke again. "You said you do not carry a name with you, but you must go by something. You are my captor, yet I do not know what even to call you."

The Specter dabbed the injury with a sterile swab, then took new strips out of his pack. "Morgue."

Sa'antha whispered, "Morgue. A title affiliated with death. Did you choose it?"

He didn't answer. Morgue plased a gauze patch over the split skin and taped it in place.

She asked quietly, "Are there others as ruthless as you? What is it like being a Specter?"

Morgue paused, he had never thought about describing it before, "Cold."

The Specter finished tending the strips of cloth and began moving again. Sa'antha inspected the bandages herself before speaking again. "That malady you carry, that ache in the Warp I sensed before you attacked us. How is it you came to be this way?"

Morgue shrugged. That seemed to end the conversation for the moment. They climbed out of the ravine and back into the wooded hills. Morgue silently berated himself. This was all territory he had covered before, tracking a previous Eldar patrol. When Sa'antha's group had passed going another way, he guessed they were headed back to the main outpost. So much for that. Now he had to retrace his steps and follow a week-old trail that he hoped would lead him to somewhere useful.

Sa'antha remained quiet for a long time. Morgue could feel her eyes on his pack where she knew he kept her jewel. He knew she wouldn't try anything. She had seen how easily Specters dispatched their targets, and the fear of death held her tightly. The sun was near the peak of the sky when Morgue drew to a halt. He crouched and pushed back the underbrush to examine the forest floor. A fresh print in the soil, so faint as to be invisible to the unaltered eye. Eldar had passed here as recently as that morning.

Morgue doubled his pace and switched on his cloaking field to its lowest setting to conserve power. Eldar were never easy to track, but now that Morgue had a trail, it was considerably less difficult. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Sa'antha was keeping up. He needn't fear, as the alien was just as nimble as he if not more. It took some minutes' swift flight, but at last a mental ping told Morgue he was close enough. He eased to a stop and engaged the full strength of his cloak.

He crept like a shadow through the foliage, the feather-light prints growing more distinct. They climbed a shallow hill that ended abruptly in a sharp incline. The crest of this hill overlooked a crater-like scoop in the land-scape, in which several Eldar had made camp. Most were either meditating or sparring. Morgue reached up to adjust the optics on his goggles and switched on the recording device. There was nothing of interest the camera could record about the meditation, that would have to be simply a side-note in his report. The sparring however would be very useful to review later.

He noticed these warriors were different from the ones he had slain on his less successful encounter. They were more heavily and ornately armored and trained with far more exotic weapons than simple rifles and swords. All the better then that there was not the slightest trace of the Twitch lurking even in the shadowy depths of his mind. Things were looking up for him.

He turned to look at Sa'antha. Or where she had been. The alien was gone! Morgue cursed furiously to himself and lept to pursue her. Being lighter than her male counter-parts, and moving much faster, Sa'antha had left almost no trail of her escape. But Specters are not easily thrown. Morgue had mastered his rage long ago, but now it strained at the binds he had placed upon it and howled within him. How could he have been so stupid? She had always been a liability, what had made him merely take her prisoner? he should have at the very least tranquilized her before he had made his approach to the Eldar camp. When he caught her, she would be very sorry.

He spotted a swirl of cardinal-colored hair among the green of the forest. He dove after it with the grim conviction of a predator closing for the kill. Sa'antha glanced over her shoulder, and Morgue thought she might increase her pace. But the Specter's cloak was still at full and she saw nothing. Morgue closed the gap between them and lashed out a gloved hand, fingers curved like talons. He aimed for her neck, but in his fury misjudged the distance. Morgue grabbed a fistful of hair and gave a hard yank. Sa'antha cried in pain and shock.

Morgue dragged her to the ground, clapped a hand over her mouth and knelt directly on her bandaged wound. A scream of agony struck against his glove, but went no farther. The pain that contorted her beautiful features pricked him, but he pushed all thoughts of mercy aside. No intel gathered from a living specimen could be worth compromising his entire mission. She had to be eliminated. Morgue drew his knife with his free hand and pushed the cold metal against her pale flesh of her neck.

Something in her eyes stopped him. Deep within his soul, some part of Morgue told him she would yet play a part in his destiny. He stood up off of her and sheathed his knife. Sa'antha sat upright and stared at him. "You choose not to kill me?"

"Don't do anything to change my mind."

She nodded and put a hand to her throat, thinking of how close she had come to the abyss...and what lay beyond for her people. Sa'antha's wound ached from the Specter's weight. She steadied her breathing and focused. The pain slowly dulled and ebbed away. It was then a shadow swept for an instant over her consciousness. Sa'antha looked up sharply at Morgue.

The Specter had sensed it as well and already had his rifle drawn. "Up. Now. We have to move."

The two fled through the foliage, a eerie presence hounding them. Where this shadowy force had come from or why it now pursued them, Morgue did not know. Every instinct, both psionic and physical, told him this was no longer a safe place. Both of them kept a sharp watch on the forest flying past them.

Sa'antha glimpsed dark shapes flickering in and out between the trees. "Morgue-"

"I see them. Keep going."

"Morgue, it's them! The hounds of the Ascendant!"

Morgue wasn't sure what she meant by that, but her warning was clear. He drew his knife and held his now bladed arm under his rifle to steady it. His hunter instincts were on full alert to avoid any spot in these woods that would be an obvious ambush. As they darted wildly, no clear path or destination other than escape, it became clear they were becoming trapped. An encounter was inevitable. Morgue was ready, his blade thirsty for blood.

Sa'antha yelled, "Morgue! There!"

A giant in black armor stepped in front of them and leveled his weapon. Morgue struck like a viper and hooked his knife across the barrel and wrenched it aside. Morgue rushed his assailant and bashed the stock of his rifle into his enemy's helmet. The giant stumbled back, creating space enough for the Specter to take a killing shot. The attacker crashed to the ground, blood spouting.

Another dark behemoth lumbered out of hiding at them, swinging a buzzing sword at Sa'antha. She ducked with the inherent whip-cord agility of her race. Sa'antha had no weapon, and could only back away. Morgue spun and threw his knife at her foe. The blade sang as it flew and planted itself in the target's eye, the tip sprouting from the back.

Morgue turned just in time to see a steel fist flying at him, intent on pulverising his skull. He evaded, but one of the spikes on the speeding gauntlet came close enough to chip the steel of his mask. Morgue grabbed the arm and forced the rest of the body to follow the momentum of the failed blow. He finished his grounded opponent with his gun.

The black warriors were everywhere! Another was already upon him even as he turned once again. A massive axe was mid-swing and level with his chest. A blur of red hair and cream-colored armor swept in front of him. When the flicker had passed, the axe fell to the ground, hand still clinging to it. The giant howled as blood gushed from his stump of a wrist. Morgue ended his misery.

The Specter turned to see what had saved him. Sa'antha had retrieved his knife and was putting it to wet use. She fairly danced among the black warriors, slicing and slashing with incredible speed. Though she lacked the strength of arm to drive the blade through any vital points, her cuts were no mere scratches. One warrior caught her around the waist with his arm. Her smooth armor allowed her to twist while still in his grip and shove the knife up through his chin beneath his helmet. Morgue finished the rest of her bleeding assailants with perfect accuracy.

And yet the dark warriors still came. There was no end to them! A full dozen now filled the little spot where Morgue and Sa'antha now stood back to back. But they would not relent. Together Morgue and Sa'antha managed to slay several more of them before they were overwhelmed. Two of the black giants grabbed Sa'antha by her arms and held her spread-eagle between them. She stuggled and kicked, but her efforts were usesless against their vice-like grip. Morgue was taken from behind while dealing with another warrior to his fore. The giant picked the Specter up in a bone-crushing bear hug. Morgue executed his previous foe then sent a brutish mental pulse into the neck of the warrior behind him. A sickening crack coincided with the suddenly slack arms. It took three of the attackers to finally pin Morgue, and only after he had slain another four of them.

The black brutes pushed Morgue to his knees while another figure strode into the clearing. This one was even more massive than his fellows. "Idiots!" he bellowed. "The lot of you nearly slain by a mere two!" He stormed over to where Sa'antha was held firmly. "And an Eldar an at that." He took Morgue's blade from her. "A knife? Not of your make, though. You are not the champion here then."

He swung his ponderous bulk toward Morgue. His teps shook the ground like thunder as he plodded to where the Specter knelt. In his armored hands he carried a titanic maul. With the butt of the weapon he held up Morgue's chin. "You bare no markings of the blight Imperium." He held up the knife. "Yours? Kind of you to lend it to your friend, but in so doing made yourself weaker. Folly. Unfortunate from a warrior of your obvious prowess." He sheathed the knife for him and gave it a gentle pat.

Morgue stayed silent.

"I bear you no ill favor for my men." He motioned for his soldiers to let him stand. "In truth, I am grateful. Tell me, why are you here?"

Morgue glanced at Sa'antha. The irony was not lost on her, and dispite their grave circumstance, a smile flickered over her features. He did not answer.

The black colossus nodded. "I see. I understand. You are trained not to speak. I am a fair man." He held up his gauntlet. An eerie light lit his palm. "Let us settle on a trade: each giving the other something in turn."

He placed his glowing hand against Morgue's head. A blinding, white-hot pain lanced though both his body and his mind. Morgue fought down a howl born of agony has he had never known it before. His tormenter pulled the hand away. "I will give you pain, and you will give me answers."

"Not much of a trade." Morgue rasped. The glowing hand once again touched his head. Morgue gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Only if you give me nothing in return." Again the hand came away. He allowed Morgue a few gasping breaths before going on. "Why is this Eldar with you?"

Morgue kept his silence.

"Ungrateful." He replaced the hand and actually squeezed this time. "I have given you so much and received nothing. What kind of man does that for his friend? I fear we have not been properly introduced. I am Hraalgus, lord and master of these Chaos Marines and...loyal servant of the Ascendant. It is so disappointing when people forget names. So I will make sure you remember mine for a long, long time."

Hraalgus released Morgue and waited. Morgue held his tongue. The Chaos Lord shook his head and sighed. "I am going to kill you now, as you have no use to me. I will see the daemons give you a fitting place in the Warp. Lay him flat."

The Chaos Marines pushed Morgue to the ground to he lay face up. Hraalgus let him take a good look at the maul head before raising it high. "This will be extremely painful. And I am going to enjoy it very much. May your skull be placed near the top of Khorne's throne, warrior."

Before the maul could strike, lightning flashed behind Hrallgus and two ornate blades burst from his belly. Hraalgus roared and staggered. The blades retracted and there was another flash. Similar flashes erupted all around the Chaos Marines. Warriors in beautiful, webbed armor lept in and out of visablility as they gutted the evil soldiers.

Hraalgus held a hand to his bleeding stomach and swung at the newcomers, catching one of them on the shoulder. "Don't stand there gawking, you fools! Kill them!" The Chaos Marines rallied and defended themselves. Several more of the agile warriors were wounded, but the ambush was complete.

The guards holding Sa'antha were decapitated and she was thrown a sword. The Chaos Marines were quickly routed, Hraalgus cursing in daemon speech and ordering the retreat. The phasing warriors gave no quarter. Their pursuit was relentless. Every dark soldier who accompanied the Chaos Lord was slain. Hraalgus, in his bulky armor made a near humorous sight fleeing as fast as he could. The warriors soon had him surrounded. Hraalgus swept at them in huge arcs with his maul, but they were canny enough to stay out of reach. With no other option, the Chaos Lord held up a black token. In a blast of fire, he recalled himself into the Warp.

All was now at peace in the wood. The warriors began piling the bodies and tending the woulded. Miraculously, not a single of their number had been slain. Sa'antha approached the leader, the one who had assaulted Hraalgus and freed her. She bowed, "Pol'thar han Eldanesh, Exarch."

The Exarch nodded. "Pol'thar, young one. You are bit far to be on your own."

Sa'antha shook her head. "It is not by choice. My fellows were slain, and I am fortunate to be alive at all."

"Yes," the Exarch said grimly, "We found several bodies. I knew the warlock who lead you. Thr'andiil was a good friend."

"Their Spirit Stones?" Sa'antha asked anxiously.

"Safe."

Sa'antha bowed her head sighed with sorrowed relief. They were dead, but at least not damned.

"We found led pellets in their wounds." the Exarch continued. "Were they slain by these foul slaves of evil?"

"No, not they. But for some reason he..." Sa'antha cast about for Morgue. The Specter had vanished. "Where...?"

The Exarch tilted his head. "The other human? Gal'thwe dispatched the guards holding him, but after that I do not recall seeing him."

Sa'antha still looked any kind of hint of his whereabouts, but it was useless. "He is...slippery. Cunning. He slays the dogs of Chaos readily, but is not of the Imperium of Man."

"Every being follows their own path." he signaled for his Warp Spiders to move out. "Come. Though your wound be dreesed, you should seek a healer. Fret not over the Mon-Keigh. He is probably long gone."

Sa'antha followed them, glad to be with her kin. But a corner of her mind would not rest. Though Morgue appeared to have left, her thoughts would not leave him. She cared little for him, but something had linked them. She would speak to the Farseer about this. As they departed, Sa'antha kept looking over her soulder. She felt eyes on her. Purhaps the Specter was not as far away as the Exarch had presumed.


End file.
